


You Will Always Know

by shezzabatch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Artist!Sherlock, Complete, Declarations Of Love, Heartbreak, M/M, Meeting, Mutual Masturbation, Naked Snuggling, Not A Happy Ending, Pre-Slash, Unilock, eventual Viclock, tea - always tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-19 02:50:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3593589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shezzabatch/pseuds/shezzabatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor needed to know Sherlock the moment he saw him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The moment Victor first saw him, he needed to know who he was. The man’s lithe, long body was all cheekbones, porcelain skin and dark curls, leaning against a wall on the far side of the courtyard lazily dragging on a cigarette.

Just who was this beautiful creature?

He made his way over to the stranger and leaned against the wall next to him, set his books down and stayed quiet. The stranger took another pull of the cigarette, exhaling the pale blue smoke that blended into the dreary grey-blue clouds above them.

“You need one,” the stranger spoke in a velvety baritone that rattled Victor’s thoughts. “I can tell by the twitch in your right hand. You haven’t smoked in two… no, three days, and your nicotine withdrawal is finally kicking in. Not much of a smoker then, are you? Just when you’re stressed. Makes sense, finals are next week after all.” He dropped the cigarette on the ground and crushed it with one finely polished oxford.

Victor finally looked at this ethereal man beside him. He was a couple inches shorter than Victor and his eyes reflected the stormy skies above. “That was pretty amazing, you know. And yes, I could use one.” He flashed a grin at the man who dug into his bespoke suit jacket pocket and tapped out two more cigarettes, lighting Victor’s first, then his own.

Victor inhaled the sweet nicotine and felt his body hum. These weren’t the average university student’s low-tar or menthol cigarettes. This man liked them strong.

“So do you do that often then?” Victor finally asked after a few moments of letting his body absorb the drug it had been craving.

“Do what?”

“Tell people what’s wrong with them just by looking at them?”

The stranger shrugged. “When necessary, which is often, so I suppose, yes I do. Most people don’t take kindly toward it but then again most people are also idiots.” He flicked the line of ashes clinging to his cigarette to the ground before turning his gaze towards Victor and looked him up and down.

Victor felt a shiver go down his spine, hairs raised on the back of his neck. What _was it_ about this man?

“Victor Trevor,” he blurted out. “Sorry I didn’t mention my name before. I’m usually more polite before bumming a cigarette off someone.” He put out one of his hands in front of the stranger who glanced down at his hand before taking it with a smile.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

Victor grinned back and gave Sherlock’s hand a firm squeeze before letting go. He took a final drag on the cigarette before stamping it out on the wall behind him. “So, Sherlock,” he tested the name which felt all sorts of _right_ on his tongue. “What are you studying?”

“Chemistry,” Sherlock dropped his cigarette to the ground and stamped it out with his foot same way as the first had gone. “With a focus on criminal forensics.”

Victor chuckled. “You seem more like the type the police would want to arrest, not hire.”

“I’m sure they’d love nothing more,” Sherlock retorted quickly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “But I already have helped them a few times; they’re realizing my value at glacial speed but once they understand I can catch criminals in under half the time they use to collect evidence they’ll be begging for my help.”

Victor couldn’t stop grinning. This man was utterly ridiculous _and he loved it_.

“I like bees too, by the way. They’re useful.” Sherlock continued to stare out into the courtyard, watching the student body pass by running to one class or another.

Victor whipped his glance to Sherlock. “Where did you--?”

“It’s fairly obvious, Biology textbooks gives away your major but the one on top isn’t on the syllabus, that’s personal reading. No professor, entomologist or not, would have a whole class read up entirely on one insect.”

Victor laughed and looked down, scrutinizing the book that gave him away. “Of course. I should have guessed.”

At that moment a loud crack overhead made him jump. A second later, fat wet drops made their way down from the dark clouds above. Neither of them had noticed the impending storm, even Sherlock, astute as he is, failed to consider it.

Victor scooped up his books and put them over his head then turned to Sherlock who was ill-prepared, curls frizzing and dripping in the now steady rain. “Come back to my dorm to get dry, it’s just over there,” he nodded towards the building directly across the courtyard, handed Sherlock one of his books to attempt to give him a bit of reprieve.

Sherlock took the book with a bit of hesitancy but soon was dodging raindrops right on Victor’s heels. They only stopped when they were under the small awning over the doors when Victor had to unlock the main door. He made his way up the two flights of stairs, glancing back occasionally to make sure Sherlock was still with him.

When he got down the hall, he unlocked his door and pushed it wide open. “Guests first,” he grinned at Sherlock who stepped into the room, Victor right after, shutting the door behind him. “Just throw that on the desk, I’ll get it later.” He dropped his own books on there first and let Sherlock follow suit. “Sit, take off that jacket. You’ll get cold.” 

Sherlock silently let himself down onto Victor’s bed, the only place in the room that was actually void of clutter, and stripped off his jacket. The collar and shoulders were soaked.

Victor rummaged through a drawer and threw a jumper at Sherlock that landed on his damp curls. He couldn’t help but laugh. “Put that on, I’m going to make tea.” He noticed Sherlock eyeing the jumper before tugging it on over head. It was just a bit on the big side for him but Victor thought it was adorable. He handed Sherlock a mug and sat on his bed beside him. They sipped their tea in the quietude, nothing but the sounds of the rain outside and the occasional slammed doors down the hall to break the silence.

“I like this,” Sherlock finally said. “Rarely does anyone invite me over. Or think I’m good company.” He stared into his mug, tapping the sides a couple times.

“I think you’re fine company,” Victor grinned again. He thought perhaps his face would get stuck that way because he barely stopped since talking to this man. He was enthralled by Sherlock and never wanted to go back to not knowing who he was. He may have seen Sherlock’s cheeks turn a rosy shade at the compliment. He held out his mug towards Sherlock. “I’d like to make a toast.”

Sherlock looked at him in confusion but held up his mug. “Okay?”

“To new friends,” he tapped the side of his mug’s against Sherlock’s.

“To cigarettes,” Sherlock quickly added. “For without which I may not have found someone actually worth talking to.” He smiled at Victor for only the second time that day but Victor felt the blood pound through his veins quicker. He took the celebratory sip from his mug and set it aside.

_And to chemistry_ , he thought, _for without which I may not have found you. And I hope soon our chemistry will work together to bring us closer._ He hoped and wished and prayed.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Played a bit with my writing style on this one (did I succeed?). I have 2 more parts on the way to complete this, not giving myself a deadline though. I do expect the rating to change and tags will be added to suit. Subscribe to stay updated :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skipped ahead just a wee bit in time :)

Victor was always told he’d know when he was in love.

And he was in love.

He watched the gorgeous man asleep beside him in his bed. Pale skin reflected the moonlight streaming through the window next to them, dark curls all tangled from their earlier exploits, one lock falling across sleeping man’s face.

Sherlock looked so peaceful when he slept.

When Sherlock was awake, he was full of biting remarks and cold demeanor. Never towards Victor of course, but all others in his path, be warned. Most people stayed away due to his reputation, and if they didn’t know it, they soon found out. If they were never under Sherlock’s scrutiny, his lack of cheerfulness easily put them off.

But he was brilliant. God, was he brilliant. It was one of the many things Victor found sexy about his boyfriend. Oh sure, he was beautiful too, but his brain captured Victor the most.

Until Sherlock’s full lips wrapped around Victor’s swollen cock. Then brilliance went out the window and all he wanted to do was to buck wildly into Sherlock’s mouth, spilling every last drop into him.

When they weren’t being physical, they were still hardly seen apart except for classes. Every spare moment the two of them had during the day they were together at a table somewhere studying, doing homework together or walking the campus with fingers laced together. Victor found Sherlock to be an excellent tutor and study partner. Even though he understood majority of his work, there would be an occasional advanced problem Sherlock would understand immediately. Victor’s grades had never been better.

Sherlock inhaled deeply in his sleep which startled Victor. When he exhaled he moved closer to bury his head into Victor’s chest. He was awake.

“You’ve been watching me sleep again,” another one of his deductions was correct, and he hadn’t even opened his eyes. Victor would never cease to be amazed by it.

Victor wrapped an arm around Sherlock and moved his legs to fit in with his. “You just look so beautiful when you do, I can’t help it.” He started tracing lines up and down Sherlock’s back, the other hand he brought up to Sherlock’s hair and ran his fingers through it. If Sherlock were a cat, he’d be purring at this point. Instead, he buried his face deeper into Victor’s chest and hummed in contentment.

They stayed this way for a while, Victor was sure Sherlock would fall asleep again but he could tell he wasn’t.

“Is there something wrong?” Sherlock finally asked. He was usually the one to be awake all night and Victor was the one to get a full night’s sleep, but lately Victor had been awake too.

Victor kept quiet and tilted his head down into Sherlock’s hair and breathed him in. He loved the smell of Sherlock’s shampoo, mixed with the scent of chemicals from experiments and something that was unique to the man himself.

Finally he exhaled. Was he ready to say this? “No, nothing’s wrong. I’ve just been thinking a lot lately.”

“Of what?” Sherlock’s deep sleep-ridden voice sent shivers down Victor’s spine. God he loved his voice too.

“Of you… of us...” He let the thought trail off. He had to say this, he needed it off his chest. He wanted Sherlock to know. He took a deep breath that made Sherlock move his head away and looked into Victor’s face, the moonlight leaving a silver lining around his ginger curls and bronzed skin, his face in shadow, but his green eyes still prominent in the dark.

“I love you.” It came out no more than a whisper and stayed trapped between them, lingering on the breaths they exchanged in their close proximity.

Victor didn’t expect a response, not right away at least. He knew Sherlock wasn’t always able to express his emotions verbally. The other man stayed quiet while Victor moved a hand to cup Sherlock’s face and pull him in for a kiss. It didn’t stay chaste for long, tongues soon fighting for occupancy in the other’s mouth, a delicate dance of lips and teeth and tongues.

Victor felt Sherlock’s hand slip down between his thighs and grab his half hard cock. They hadn’t bothered to re-clothe themselves earlier, instead enjoying the way their warm bodies felt against each other under the duvet. He broke the kiss to reach over Sherlock and grabbed the lube from the nightstand, thankful it hadn’t been tossed somewhere further in the room.

He squeezed some of the slick liquid on to his hand and Sherlock’s who held his out as well. This time Victor didn’t care where it landed and he heard it thump somewhere on the other side of the bed. He reached down and grabbed Sherlock’s erection at the same time Sherlock grabbed Victor’s. They pumped in time with each other, their kisses getting sloppier till they broke apart, needing to breathe.

Sherlock came first, white ribbons decorating his abdomen. He panted as he still worked on Victor who now had his forehead resting on Sherlock’s, breathing heavily. A moment later he too was striped with sticky, white streaks across his stomach and chest. They laid there together for a while, regaining their breath. Eventually Victor grabbed the flannel from earlier and cleaned them up, then pulled Sherlock back close to him. Sherlock lightly ran his fingers up and down Victor’s arm, a giggle bubbling up from his chest.

“What?” Victor wasn’t used to laughter in the bedroom unless something went horribly wrong. He really _really_ hoped that wasn’t the case right now.

Sherlock looked up at him with his brilliant smile painting his face. He was so beautiful when he smiled, Victor wished he did it more. “Nothing,” Sherlock kissed Victor and pulled away slowly, once again burying his head into Victor’s chest and entwining their legs together.

Unsure of what just happened, Victor wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and sighed before falling asleep moments later.

The next morning he awoke to an empty spot beside him and he nearly panicked before seeing a cup of tea on the nightstand with a note pinned underneath which simply read:

_I love you, too_  
_\--SH_

Victor grinned and sipped the tea while his heart soared higher than it ever had before. He was so in love.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely Jominerva for proofreading/betaing/previewing this last part for me :)

Victor always knew he had a big heart. What he didn’t know was that it could easily break.

Nothing hurt him more than the whirlwind summer he spent with his boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes.

Victor had invited Sherlock to spend the summer with him at his family’s sprawling estate in Norfolk. When Sherlock agreed, nothing had made Victor happier. He was excited he’d get to show Sherlock the home where he spent his childhood summers, the lush gardens and expansive grounds.

The first month went better than he imagined: horseback riding along the trails, picnics under shady oak trees, afternoon naps in Victor’s bedroom suite which overlooked a large lake, one of several on the property, and spending a lot of their time with other physical activities.

It was the second month when things started to take a turn. Sherlock seemed quieter, spent more time to himself, taking long walks alone and no longer as responsive to the things Victor wanted to share. Victor gave him his space as he needed it, but every night Sherlock wouldn’t fail to meet Victor in bed, curling up into his chest the same way as he had always done. It was this part of the day Victor liked most. He loved the closeness to Sherlock, the intimacy, the spark the last month had that seemed to be missing now. He didn’t realize Sherlock had become his drug of choice over the past several months, and now that his drug wasn’t as near, he was craving it, and badly.

It was on a sunny morning near the start of the third and final month when Victor found Sherlock balled up into a leather wingback chair in the grand library, a stack of old texts beside him. Victor curiously noted one about old, unsolved crimes, another on chemistry (Sherlock had perused every last chemistry book he could find in the Trevors’ library), and currently he was flipping through one about astronomy.

Victor stopped in front of him and put his hands in his pockets. Sherlock seemed so engrossed he didn’t look up, instead Victor could see his eyes skimming over the words on the page and watched his elegant fingers flip to the next. He looked amazing this morning, the bright sunlight glowing on his skin and making his dark hair look more chestnut-colored than its usual inky black. The curls were in a mess, some had been pulled taught from sleep, others looking smooshed, and the whole mop of it tousled without care. God he was gorgeous. Victor watched him this way for another minute or more before finally clearing his throat to get Sherlock’s attention; verdigris eyes sprung up to meet Victor’s green ones, the look on his face between curiosity and annoyance.

"Hey there," Victor smiled at his beautiful boyfriend who continued to stare nonchalantly at him. "Good morning. You've been kind of quiet lately...you know you have another friend here besides the books.. What do you think about heading down to the lake today? We can bring sketch pads, just spend some time outside?"

Sherlock blinked at him a couple times in contemplation. Victor sincerely hoped his little art adventure might coax him out of the stuffy library, at least for a little while.

"Alright," Sherlock responded after another silent minute before turning back to the book.

Victor stood there watching him again as Sherlock flipped to the next page. "I was thinking we could go now, while it's nice?"

Sherlock sighed, shut his book and set it aside. "Fine." He stood and made a hasty retreat out of the library. Victor jogged to catch up with him down the hall and caught his arm to stop him and turn him around.

"Okay, what is _wrong_ with you?? Why have you been acting so moody lately? You've barely been around, you never want to talk to me anymore and frankly I don't understand your attitude. What happened?? You know you can tell me..." Victor left the sentence hang in the thickened air between them.

Sherlock stood holding his arms, a slight frown painting his face as he looked off to the side on the floor. He even looked.. was that sadness coming across in his expression? When he finally spoke it came out weak, almost a mumble. “I don’t deserve someone like you.”

Victor’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. What did that even mean? It made no sense. If anything Victor didn’t deserve Sherlock. Intelligent, witty, occasionally (oftenly) blunt but nothing he couldn’t handle. “What are you on about, Sherlock?”

He spoke a little louder this time: “I don’t deserve you. Look at me. I’m a mess compared to you and your perfect life here. I don’t belong.”

“Oh please, Sherlock, that’s nonsense. You belong here just as well as I do. Remember the first day you met my father? He took so well to you. He really enjoys you being here, almost as much as I do.” Victor stepped forward and put his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders which caused him to finally look Victor in the face. “I couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend or a better summer than this one. I love you so much, you know.” He took this moment to close the gap between them, kissing Sherlock slowly and sweetly, which Sherlock only returned on the last one before Victor pulled away but kept his grasp on one of Sherlock’s hands. “Let’s go get those sketch pads, have a quiet morning by the lake, shall we?”

Sherlock nodded and Victor gave him a sad smile before kissing him one last time on the cheek, letting go of his hand and moving in the direction of the room where he kept his art supplies.

Half an hour later they were seated on a quilt by the lake’s edge. The water was calm, reflecting the trees and sky so clearly it was like glass. The soft lapping of the waves on the small shoreline and the birds calling were the only sounds to accompany the scratching of graphite and charcoal on bristol paper.

Victor leaned over to sneak a peek at what Sherlock had been putting in his sketchpad. It was the scene before them: a small dock jutting out into the lake from the shore, a small row boat tied to its side, a few birds that had been wading on the glassy surface earlier. Sherlock noticed and looked up at Victor. “What?”

“I think it’s missing just one thing…” Victor set his own sketches aside, stood and made his way down to the water. Sherlock watched him, confused. Victor stopped where the dock met the shore and stripped off his shirt, trousers, socks and shoes, then took a running start down the dock and cannonballed into the lake, disturbing the calm surface of the water with a giant splash. He wasn’t under for more than a few seconds, coming up for a giant gasp of air and shaking out his hair. He then triumphantly raised a hand which held his pants and laughed as he threw them up on the dock.

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. Skinny dipping. Of course Victor would think his perfect nude form would be missing from the picture. Victor watched as Sherlock got up and brought his sketch pad and graphite pencils with him. “Alright… if you want a nude portrait, you’ll get one!”

Sherlock made his way down to the end of the dock where he proceeded to dangle his legs off the end, feet in the water, and set his sketch pad in his lap and the pencils beside him. Victor waded closer to his boyfriend. “How do you want me for this? I can go to shallower water and pose for you.. or I could…” Victor leaned back, brought his legs up to the surface and proceeded to show off his golden, naked form in all his glory as he floated on the surface. He looked at Sherlock and laughed. For all the times they had seen each other nude, he’d never get over blush that consistently creeped into Sherlock’s cheeks every time.

Sherlock immediately went to work setting graphite to paper, Victor staying afloat near the dock the entire time. About fifteen minutes later, Sherlock was finished with a rough outline he could go back to later to fill in details. Victor approved after seeing it and watched Sherlock set it aside and lean towards him.

“I’m sorry…. about the last couple weeks..” Sherlock started tentatively. “I know I haven’t been.. quite all there lately. I hope you’ll forgive me?” Sherlock looked at Victor with the most remorseful look he’d ever seen, his eyes softened at the corners and almost a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Victor sighed. “Of course I forgive you. I love you.” He raised one hand out of the water and grabbed onto one of Sherlock’s feet still making small ripples on the surface.

Sherlock mistakenly took this moment to decide to lean forward and kiss his boyfriend when Victor had other ideas, sneakily grasping the back of Sherlock’s neck when he got close enough and pulled the ridiculous man into the water with him, splashing the water everywhere.

Sherlock came up to the surface and gasped for air. “Oh my _god_ you are dead!” Victor could only laugh for a split second before Sherlock pushed him under the water in revenge. Victor grabbed him around his middle and tried to pull him down but Sherlock fought him off. Victor came up a second later, falling back into giggles and pulling Sherlock in close to kiss the cute frown off his face. They stayed this way for a while, holding each other in the water, stealing kisses in the quiet morning till their skin started to prune up and they thought it was a good time to leave and dry off.

Another week went by after that, things not as tense between them, but Victor still felt something was wrong. He found Sherlock in the room with his art supplies, working on the nude drawing from the lake. It was nearly completed. Victor stared at his naked form surrounded by the calm water and remembered what a good day that had been. It repaired some of the damage between them but deep down he knew it hadn’t solved everything.

“I brought you tea,” he set the mug down on a table next to the work station.

Sherlock hummed noncommittally and continued to fill in details of trees and wood and Victor’s body, which he seemed to have memorized. The portrait screamed with tranquility: the calmness of the water paired with Victor’s relaxed floating body on the water’s surface. Sherlock had captured the scene perfectly.

“It’s beautiful.”

Sherlock hummed again as he smeared graphite along Victor’s drawn form, defining his muscles. Victor watched in silence a few minutes more sipping his own tea before deciding he wasn’t going to get much more out of the man when he was this deep in concentration. He left him to himself and made himself cozy in library for the rest of the afternoon.

By the time he got up and stretched out of his compact position it was dusk and he was hungry. He stopped in the kitchen to see if Sherlock had gotten there first, but it was empty, not even dishes piled in the sink. He then made his way back to the art room but Sherlock wasn’t there either, and neither was the portrait. Victor sighed and pulled out his phone to text him. Where are you? It sent off immediately. Maybe he’d gone for another walk. He checked a few more places in the house (parlour, dining room, the balcony off the master suite) and he was still nowhere to be found. No return text either. This was highly unlike him.

He made his way to his bedroom last, thinking maybe he had retired early or decided to take a shower. When he walked in, Sherlock wasn’t in either room, but the portrait had been finished and left on Victor’s bed with a note:

 

_Victor,_

_I’m sorry. I couldn’t stay any longer. I feel I have overstayed my welcome, both here and in our relationship. I know you love me, and I love you, but I can’t go on pretending things are alright between us, and I don’t think you can either. The past several months have been some of the best in my life, and you made it that way._

_When I first arrived this summer I felt overwhelmed, but you made it more bearable. As the weeks went on, however, I realised we no longer shared the same sentiments. It was at this time when I started separating myself from you, trying to figure out who I was again. Who I had been before you. You made me better in so many ways, but in so many others you also made me realise how much I don’t deserve you._

_It was this revelation that was the catalyst to my decision. The morning you took me out to the lake to sketch was the day I had originally decided I was going to leave. You changed that. Only you could have done that. I stayed only to finish your portrait. I leave it here for you to do with as you wish. Keep it, burn it, sell it, frame it. I don’t care. It’s yours._

_Perhaps some time in the future we’ll meet again. Maybe I’ll be ready for us to continue where we left off, if of course you haven’t found someone more suitable to your needs. You deserve someone better than me._

_I should nearly be home in London by the time you read this, so please, don’t come after me. I would only send you away from my door._

_It hurts me to write this to you, but I’m sure it will hurt more to read it._

_I love you, Victor._  
_Goodbye._

_\--SH_

 

Victor dabbed the tears away from his eyes and crumpled up the letter, throwing it across the room. It bounced off the far wall and onto the floor. He took the portrait off his bed and marched over to his closet to shove it somewhere in the back never to be found again when he saw Sherlock had left a title on the back: _Portrait Nu De Mon Amant_. Victor scoffed. Where the hell did he get off even titling it that if he ultimately knew he was leaving? He shoved it in his closet albeit not as roughly as he had first wanted to. It still was a beautiful piece. Of course it was though, Sherlock had made it.

He made his way back to his bed, picking up the crumpled letter on the floor. He smoothed it out and reread it. Then reread it again, and again, until his pillowcase was damp with tears and he fell asleep. He knew then he had just lost the first love of his life.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!
> 
> Okay so I know I left a lot A LOT of background out but I meant for it to be that way. This really was written to show the major highlights of their relationship. Fill in the gaps as you see fit. :) 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


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